His soul was thrill’d with terror. On he went,
E’en to the snow-fring’d margin of the cragg,
Which to his citadel a platform made
Slipp’ry and perilous! ’Twas darkness, all!
All, solitary gloom!—The concave vast
Of Heav’n frown’d chaos; for all varied things
Of air, and earth, and waters, blended, lost
Their forms, in blank oblivion! Yet not long
Did Nature wear her sable panoply,
For, while the Hermit listen’d, from below